


She Burns There Too

by bxlloon (teenage_Calamity)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Beverly Marsh Stays in Derry, Beverly is controlling, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, F/F, Fanfiction, Forced, Forced Cohabitation, Forced Masturbation, Forced Orgasm, Forced Relationship, Gaslighting, Lesbian Beverly Marsh, Manipulative Relationship, Mental Disintegration, Mental Instability, Mommy Issues, Pennywise controls Bev, Pennywise is his own Warning, Slow Burning, Yandere, difficult parental relationship, instability, lack of structure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25591405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenage_Calamity/pseuds/bxlloon
Summary: 17 year old Beverly Marsh is lonely, and trapped with her abusive father in a cursed town, Derry, Maine. A girl the same age ignites a feeling that shouldn't even be thought of in a time like this. But that won't stop her.And with all the assholes in this god forsaken town, it wouldn't hurt to keep an eye on her, right? Especially with a terrifying clown on the loose.Then it gets personal. And obsessive.
Relationships: Beverly/Female Reader, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	1. P R O L O G U E

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING:  
> mentions of murder, blood and gore in this chapter. If some are sensitive to this kind of stuff, probably not a good idea to read further.  
> mental illness is also heavily implied in this chapter.  
> thank you :D
> 
> also, [m/n] means your middle name and NOT your mother's name  
> most of this chapter is based on memories from "your" childhood.  
> TERMS YOU MAY NEED:
> 
> housing=the back of the 80s phones that rest on the wall [if you know what i mean]

The body was beginning to smell so fucking bad already. It had been around 3 days since her life had ended, and in that time, the killer had almost been too stunned to move out of their victim's apartment. The blood had seeped into the plush, cream carpet, like a sickly wine. A wine she would always try to be disgusted by, to shame and detest. Her hunger pulled her back each and every time, desperate to fuel her addiction one more time. She didn't want to stop. She couldn't. She never would be able to.

"Mom, my friend asked me round to her house! Can I please, PLEASE go?" a shrill, high-pitched voice echoed through the house, unaware of sickly liquids staining her bedroom walls.

Mommy had been meaner than usual lately, snapping and slamming doors. But she said she was sorry, and sometimes they went and got ice cream. But then there were the times where mommy wasn't awake. The house was quiet. No music was playing, like Prince or The Cure. Duran Duran sometimes featured when Mom was happy.

It only took about three minutes for the naive young girl to realise something was wrong. So very wrong, as if the Devil himself came and spread his sin around her home, her own home where she consistently felt as if she had to prove herself to her mom. That morning, Mom asked her to go to the store to pick up ice creams from the store. No requests this time, which was odd.

Mommy always asked her to get a particular ice cream whenever she could; she wasn't picky, but she knew her young daughter needed direction in the shopping kind of thing. But mommy also seemed nervous today. Jittery.

“Are you sick?” she’d sweetly asked, and looked down in confusion when her mother patted her head like a puppy and told her not to worry about Mommy, she had a lot on her mind that day.

She had rushed out the door, to school, doing as her dear Mommy had told her, to just forget and focus on her friend Marie who brought in peanut butter chocolate bars for the both of them to share at lunch, hidden under the stairs in the west side of school.

Marie had asked the girl to come over to listen to her new cassette tape that her parents had gotten her for her birthday. Y/N really wanted to go.

But maybe Mommy would get mad again. And she hated it, absolutely nothing could compete with the feelings of fear and sadness as she saw her wrecked mother slip into a slumber, induced by bottles of wine that she used to only have rarely, at Christmases and family gatherings that resulted in arguments about the lack of a relationship between Y/N’s parents. Her daughter needed stability, they said. And that bitch Rebecca has the audacity to pull away her sister in law away from her sulking child, instead insisting that she would be better in 𝙝𝙚𝙧 household. Mrs L/N made no effort to attend further gatherings after that. As she and her daughter dealt with the absence of their own husband and father, the other members of her family embroiling her within disjointed speculation on why her poor daughter didn't have a daddy and god forbid she resumed dating, resulting in another "accident".

Y/N's father was cold, heartless. He once protected his wife from the rumours, the stares, the shameless gossip from her other wealthy friends with children and husbands who only cared when they had appearances to make at family dinners, keeping up the family elements of their dear town Derry. 

He protected her just as much as she protected him. A former poster child for the phrase "I'll have her home when you said sir, actually probably not, maybe an hour late but that's because we fucked." She adored him and hated him for it. But that was the fun, he said. She went along with it.

He was unreliable, but mysterious, and a heartthrob. She was in a toxic relationship with a quarterback asshole. She came to school with a black eye. She could see the anger in his beautiful brown eyes, much like her 'friend', as he struggled underneath her, nose broken, eyes expelling tears like a waterfall as he bled out on her carpet. The life leaving him, as she grinned sadistically, snatching the bread knife from his stomach after twisting it impossibly hard, impossibly fast though his stomach. He groaned loudly, attempting to shield his body from further attacks.

But anyway. Y/N just wanted to see if Mom was better than this morning, test out the water. Marie was her only friend, and she had been hoping to introduce the two of them for a long time. Creeping through her house, it felt eerie and almost heavy with the air of thousand ghosts, that came to haunt and play.

All of a sudden, Girls On Film by Duran Duran started playing, but it was fairly distant, like it was over at the other side of the house. Easing up a little, the 12-year-old straightened her form and continued her way down the dark hallway. As she got closer and closer, the familiar sound of dishes clanging and bashing.

Being a smart child, Y/N knew that right now her mom was cooking because she had something to tell her, to announce. The bigger the meal, the more she tried to hide things by shovelling heavenly food into her daughters awaiting mouth. As if on cue, the child's stomach emitted a loud grumble, and only now did Y/N realise how starving she was, and sped up to a point where she was running towards the kitchen. Pushing the door open, she caught a whiff of a foul odour suffocating the air of the kitchen's usual floral scent. Her mother's favourite expensive perfume mixed badly with the awful smell, as if she just spritzed a bunch of it to... _cover up_ something.

"Hi Mom," she almost spat the words before her head could catch up, and she scrambled to excuse her angry-sounding tone by fake coughing excessively. Mom turned around from facing the oven, raising her eyebrows, but then turned back when she heard spitting from the pan.

"Hey, darling, how was school today?" she spoke with a sense of knowing, like she had already anticipated what her daughter was going to say. Her soft, h/c hair was tied up in a messy half-half-down bun with strands loose at the front, tucked behind her ears. She was wearing a white dress, that was similar to a child's one, that you would wear in the sixties, with a big sunhat tied with a satin cream bow. She looked happier than usual, humming and moving with the grace of a swan gliding though a crystal lake, moving throughout the kitchen shifting pots and plates with a reliable speed.

Soon, dinner was prepared and mother and daughter were sat side by side, watching She-Ra: Princess of Power in comfortable silence. The atmosphere was relaxed if a little forced, but the two females did nothing but sit and watch the tv, relishing in the calmness.

"Can I go to Marie's house tonight?" Y/N asked, her heart pounding so hard her mother might have been able to hear it.

Not even looking at her daughter, and without missing a beat, replied "Yes, if you want to." No push-back, no resistance. Just "yes"? Was she just going to let her go? With no rules, no requirements, not even a hint of reassurance of her behaviour?

Y/N wanted so badly to pretend that she was feeling at ease at the lack of questioning from her mother, as annoying it could be. She mostly felt secure when her mother asked questions about things she wanted to do; whether it be a solo activity , or with some others. It showed that she cared about her daughter's well-being, and what she was doing, who she was with, etc. They both knew why her father was absent, but her mother was holding on this crazy idea that one day he would be back. He saved her so many times, more that he could ever know, why couldn't he come and save her just one more time?

But he wouldn't. He had his new woman now, in the middle of nowhere, in the luxury cabin he was going to build for HER and their child. He probably had another child with the whore anyway. With his selfishness and self-proclaimed 'mistakes', he set a mediocre example for his young daughter Y/N, whom he named himself with such seemingly real pride and happiness as he rocked her to sleep, when he thought his exhausted wife was sleeping. In actuality, she silently gazed upon her family with a sense of peace, watching the silhouette of her husband with a profound adoration for life at that very moment.

It took two years for everything to go to shit. Y/N passed two years, and what came with that was hefty levels of stress, crying, tantrums, anger, all that jazz. Tom, started to become more angry, dare I say (barely) violent on a semi-regular basis. She loved him and trusted him enough to forgive him, but he seemed to not want that. He seemed to not want her as much.

He grew distant, and if possible even more colder than before.

He started spending less time with his family, and the bar seemed to be his new favourite place. The fights got worse, and he stormed off upstairs like a teenager, cursing and slamming the door. Y/N was crying, with her little face scrunched up with emotion.  
"Oh darling, I'm so sorry.Baby, I'm so sorry," Connie would pick her daughter up softly, trying not to cry herself. She was trying. So fucking hard.

She gracefully carried her baby to the couch, and sat down ready to watch tv to calm herself.

Maybe later she could talk to Tom. Understand, no MAKE him understand what he had caused; how hurt she was.  
Y/N had long fallen asleep, her short breaths giving Connie a rush only mothers can experience. The love that they feel for something they carried in their wombs for so long. It calmed her, Y/N was the product of love that only most could imagine.

The clock read 3:00pm. Her daughter's supper was due. Standing up, she yawned, feeling the satisfying crack of her bones popping into place. Connie jumped, her hands flying to her head in surprise as the red rotary dial phone on the wall began to ring loudly. Huffing in annoyance, she picked up the glossy handset and held it to her ear, and with a tentative "hello", she was taken aback when the line went dead, indicating that the person on the other end had rudely hung up on her. She slammed the handset on the housing on the wall.

She didn't think of the call for hours until she was going upstairs to bed. Tom had gone down to the store for some beer, and he had begun a strange habit of talking on the phone when he thought she was asleep. So she waited and waited and waiting eventually became torturous, but Connie was stubborn. Looking over at her child, she came to the harsh revelation that she _needed_ to do this.

And unbeknown to Y/N, Connie knew that she needed to let her go. She needed to allow her daughter to grow, and make mistakes. She wanted Y/N to do better than she herself had. 

She just had to give herself a chance to learn.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
"So, what move do you think you're going to be making?" Marie asked, shoving candy down her throat as she stared at Y/N intently.  
"I don't know, I heard her on the phone yesterday, probably talking to the annoying neighbour down the street."

"That girl Mandy? Doesn't she have Dan as her brother? I heard that they were having a party tonight!"

"Why are you smiling like that? It's not like we would be able to attend anyway."  
Marie laughed a sordid laugh, and then waved some red rubber wristbands in the air, and Y/N's heart began to beat wildly in that moment. Red bands were a kind of code for wild parties, and they were highly coveted by anyone who you could possibly think of. Marie must have gone to great lengths to get them, and Y/N was a bit concerned about it, if she had to be honest. 

"Where the hell did you get those? H-how did you get those?"

"Carrie Howard who's a sophomore, is friend's with Sarah in the Springs Lane side of town and her boyfriend is holding a red wrist party!" Making out only a few words, Y/N asked Marie to repeat herself. She obliged and the former was in shock. A red wristband party? Those were hard to come by in this town, and it was not like they were handed out like candy. Excitement surged through her veins, but it was quickly extinguished when she realized she had to make her mom aware of this change in evening plans.

After phoning her mom back home on Marie’s baby blue corded phone, she borrowed clothes that made her look at least 15, no one cared how old you were at a red wrist party, as long as you had the band. 

As they were walking to the party, Marie chatting away in obvious excitement and nervousness at the same time, Y/N wondered back to how her mother had sounded on the phone. Her voice sounded muffled, as if she was in the middle of a task and was holding the phone against her shoulder. 

Back home, Connie was exhausted. Blood and death had been cleared from the air and she felt cleaner than ever. She hoped her daughter wouldn’t find the body. 

She couldn’t. 

But they were moving anyway. To a town called Derry, in Maine. Sipping her tea, she wondered of living there would be better for Y/N. She needed-she wanted this to work. 

Her bloodsoaked fingers tapped against the teacup. To the beat of Girls on Film.


	2. 1- 𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙫𝙖𝙡

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After three towns, and a plethora of schools basked in drama, Y/N hasn’t met “challenging” until she came to Derry. 
> 
> Beverly wishes she didn’t have to be the mediator in every fight between Richie and Eddie, and in a moment of weakness our dear reader provides a perfect distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in this chapter/ rest of the book, The Losers Club members are all 17 years of age. any violence or sexual situations are in here because they are old enough.

**Song:** _Big_ _Girls_ _Don’t_ _Cry_

High tides of peace washed over mother and daughter as they drove incessantly towards a new start, but the distance was longer than expected.

Connie was damn desperate to get to this new place. Derry had houses remarkably good and cheap, so she considered it a grand steal for the time she bought it. Lying one weekend about a date, the woman had journeyed to Maine, and upon seeing this house it took a great ounce of restraint to not cry out in delight.

It was perfect for them both, and she so very wanted to tell Y/N of what she was planning for their future.

Their relationship had turned into a dependent one, and thus they had almost no feelings of familial appreciation towards each other. Deep down, they could have loved each other, as a mother and daughter should. But they looked out for each other when it benefited them individually.

As they sat in the front of the car, Y/N watched as the countless trees went by. Tears For Fears’ hit “Everybody Wants To Rule The World” was playing, it’s chorus lighting up her flaming nostalgia.

Connie gave a wry smile as she saw Y/N’s personality elevate as soon as she heard the song. She always did love that song. Along with sneaky appearances of Madonna and similar artists, Y/N was a sucker for upbeat music but she also loved the melancholy sadness of some songs.

Y/N wanted to believe that Derry would be the last pit stop, she really, desperately did. But Connie had said that the last three times they had moved into shitty towns with shitty foundations for houses. In the last town, it wasn’t even a week before they needed to splurge their grocery allowance to fix the boiler.  
She wanted a nice house. Everybody wants a nice house. She wanted a good, stable, well- built home where she didn’t have to worry about running home from school to make sure the fucking boiler hadn’t exploded and set her house on fire.

A sliver of pathetic hope always seemed to stick around though, as if she actually had faith in the fact that this new town in Maine could be what they both needed and desired. School would always be a train wreck.  
It didn’t take long for her to find hidden places, rooms that had been dormant since practically the war years. Only on one occasion had she been found out in such a room, but she used whatever excuse and device Y/N could get her hands on to keep on the low.

There were bullies, wherever. She hated the fact but it had to be thought about and planned for. Mom had to get a new job, and it would be hours before she would get home with a successful job hunting trip, so it would be fine to lie about going to the store, when actually she had to find hide-outs.

Secret places.

Places where she could escape to.

She would bring her own lunch, school food held extremely low expectations.

"You'll love the house, Y/N. It's big and spacious-you'll love it, hun." Y/N looked over exhausted, and smiled tiredly as if she just wanted to turn back home. She honestly just wanted to slip into an endless oblivion of slumber, but the coffee from two hours ago made her mission of well-deserved sleep basically impossible. Fuck caffeine.

Connie herself felt like she could fall asleep at the wheel at any given minute. After waiting to get on a smooth straight road that would be the safest to drive on, she carefully reached over to her cup of coffee that was resting in the holder that was located in between the two front seats, and lifted it to her lips. A honk blared out loudly from behind the car, and in shock Connie dropped the lukewarm coffee all over her lap.

"FUCK!" she shouted in surprise, but no pain was afflicting her lower half. Just a dull ache. And a numb, damp sensation. She slammed on the brake and Y/N went lurching forward, almost slamming her chin on the dashboard.

Yes, fuck caffeine indeed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Richie, I don't wanna spend my whole fucking summer in a dumb, hot arcade!" Eddie Kasprak was intent on having a better summer, one that wouldn't give him a higher chance of any passable disease.  
The bespectacled idiot rolled his eyes so hard he almost did a stellar impression of Stan. He bit a chunk out of his Popsicle and winced as his teeth were hit with a wave of sensitivity and he clenched his jaw. "Eds, it's summer, like you said. I only go there when Bowers and his gang of fucking maniacs aren't there, and I've been scoping out the place to make sure that they aren't there!"

"That's pure bullshit and you know it! You're just trying to get me to go with you, asshole!" Eddie was finished with his Popsicle, and he stormed over to the trashcan and angrily threw the wooden stick in.

Beverly sighed in annoyance, and she took out a cigarette out of her backpack.

"Hey Rich, you have a lighter on you?" she called from the other side of the alley, the one that she first met Ben while Eddie patched him up. Richie and Eddie ignored her as they continued their stupid bickering.

_"Richie."_

Eddie was now obsessively breathing on his inhaler, shaking it, then breathing from it again. Richie was laughing his ass off, pointing and almost rolling on the floor. Beverly almost thought of this stupid fight as amusing herself. But she had been ignored for about five minutes. 

Richie was still laughing when they got the library, where they were due to meet the other Losers, at Mike's request. There was no point in lighting a cancer stick now, but she desperately wanted to clear her head, make some space for the fear that was sure to follow at some point today.

The clown, Pennywise liked to show up more when The Loser's Club were all together more than they were rarely apart. They always told each other of each encounter when they met again, and once the mutual terror had worn off for the most part, they spent a great deal in comforting each other and putting in their encounters book. Oh yeah, they had an entire ass book dedicated to describing their trauma. It hurt to even look through the pages, reliving the sheer terror and panic that gripped them, shattering their rationality with the memories, ones they desperately wanted to forget.

Pennywise would never let them forget. As long as he had his 27 year rest, came back he would always remind them all of the tragedy he had caused. Death would follow them around like a parasitic ghost, that would tear them into pieces, so many pieces that they couldn't even help each other. 

Bev put away the cigarette, she'd light it later. Her pale shaking fingers dropped it though, and she bent down slightly to the plush green grass, picking it up, jumping almost right out of her skin, as a Mustang drove quickly by, pulling up outside the pharmacy, where a woman got out drenched in what looked like coffee, and pushing into the door storming into the store, probably scaring the owner shitless. Oh well, he deserved it anyway. He was a fucking creep, but in a way he almost introduced her to the other Loser's, on that good day.

She placed the cigarette back in the pocket of her cropped jeans, and then a girl in that same mustang stepped out, lighting a cigarette. Both the car and her weren't that far away, so it wasn't hard to make out her h/c hair, and windbreaker jacket. She looked rather tired, and her mother-well, assuming- stormed back out of the store, causing her to quickly throw the lit cancer stick onto the pavement, stomping on the flame, and then snapping open the door of the passenger seat. The woman hit the gas, and they slowly drove away, but in a different direction than they came. 

Beverly didn't know how long she was standing there, but she heard the seemingly everlasting argument between Richie and Eddie, Stan trying to break up the fight, and a hand grasped her shoulder, and she gasped loudly out of sheer reflex, and she stepped back, moving her right arm in a wave-like motion in an effort to shrug the hand off her shoulder. It did move, and she turned around to the person, only see it was Bill. She mentally and physically relaxed and he gave a pained but understanding look, saying nothing. 

Beverly just looked back to the place where the girl and her car were a few moments ago. 

In a town like this, she prayed for her.

She didn't believe in God, but she really did pray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading! :D

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading :)
> 
> if you have any feedback, i would love to hear it in the comments below.


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